It was 12:47 PM when I heard the door buzzer go off; someone down by the front door had his or her finger firmly pressed against it. I waited a breath, then two; the buzzer didn't stop. I was a medium-toned drone that managed to annoy me to no end even though it wasn't very loud or high-pitched; I slid out of my bed and stumped over to the intercom, I jabbed my finger into the speak button and started talking.

"Hello?" my voice was gruff and tired sounding, I swallowed and tried again, "Hello?" I repeated. I removed my finger from the talk button and the speaker exploded into static. It took me a second to figure out that someone was actually panting into the microphone on the other end, well not really panting, more like gasping.

"Hello," Rumbled the voice on the other end "Would you be so kind as to – ah – Let me in?" the question was punctuated by a low moan.

"Sure buddy, what happened to you, you sound awful." My finger hovered over the unlock button, waiting for a response from the other end.

"I appear to have been stabbed, not seriously, but enough to warrant some b100dloss and light-headedness" came the reply, words concise and calm yet labored. I swore quietly and then pressed down the button.

"Get yourself up here, I can stich it up for you and give you somewhere to rest for the night. Room 20B one floor up from the door."

"Ah, thank you very much," said the voice as I buzzed him through.

He was at my door in seconds, politely knocking even tough he said he was bleeding; I opened it and barely retained a gasp. He was taller then me by a good head or so and he filled the doorway with his massive frame. He had black hair that fell over his shoulders with a pronounced widow's peak on his forehead, orange horns that grew out of his head and into the shape of two arrows; the tip of one broken off jaggedly, and grey skin. A single drop of blood spattered on the floor from under his coat; a bright royal blue.

I had just invited a high-blood Alternian troll into my apartment so I could tend to his stab wound, good going Strider.

"Greetings," he said, breathing labored. He pitched forward all of a sudden, horn tips barely missing the top of the doorframe. I caught his arm and fought to keep him upright but he was heavy as hell.

He found his footing again and stood once more, knees shaking. He had a solid grip on my forearm, which I must say, hurt a little, and it takes a deal of force to get a Strider to admit something hurts.

"Easy there, big guy." I slid my other hand under his armpit to gain more leverage, which I instantly regretted; this guy was sweating like a racehorse. I led him to my couch and set him down, he pushed off his coat to reveal his right hand pressed firmly against his left kidney area, the same royal blue as his bags seeping through his black shirt.

I wiped my hand on my boxers, white with little red hearts all over them, and dashed to the kitchen to get a towel and then came back to the couch, he was grimacing, and his sunglasses had slipped slightly down his angular nose to reveal the yellow sclera of his eyes. I handed him the towel and he exchanged it for his hand, his palm stained a dark blue.

I pulled my sewing kit out from under the couch and took out a needle and black thread; better to go with neutral tones then offend him with colors. I threaded the needle on the first try and then moved to pull up the alien's shirt.

I placed my hand as close to the bleeding area as I dared and then slid my hand up his abdomen, the black cloth collecting at my wrist. His skin was strange, cool, slick with sweat, and almost rubbery to the touch.

He hissed and clenched his teeth; I stopped and looked up at him. He had sweat collecting on his brow and had his glasses pushed up all the way to his horns, he looked at me and ducked his chin in a little half-nod, a nonverbal go-ahead.

I pushed his shirt the rest of the way up his chest and looked at the wound; it was one of those horrible broken-bottle shank wounds, complete with pieces of glass sticking out here and there. I did my best to pick out the big pieces with my fingers but I had to use tweezers for the smaller ones.

After the glass was cleaned out and most of the blood wiped off I started stitching the cuts closed. The wound wasn't as deep as I thought it was, his skin was quite thick; it would leave a scar if anything.

"So, what did you do to get stabbed buddy?" It was kind of awkward to be preforming a minor surgery in the middle of the night on a bara alien wearing only my boxers, so I broke the tension with questions. My tongue peeking out from my lips as I concentrated on making my stiches clean and small, he was silent save for his slightly hitched breath.

"I was assaulted in the street," he replied.

"A big guy like you? Just jumped in the street? Must have been some whack-job, you to have to balls to mess with a guy like you. Either that or be totally out of it." I knotted and cut my tread, moving on to the smaller cuts.

"Well, highb100ds are notorious for their mental instability." He sighed and I paused mid stich.

"So you're saying you let yourself get stabbed because his blood is 'higher' then your own?" I grinned a little, this guy was a bit of a weirdo; wouldn't even protect himself because of blood color. I knew a little about Alternian blood caste systems, a purple blood probably shanked him, anything higher was royalty and it wouldn't be very royal to spaz out on a lower caste, or was it?

"In a sense yes, I did manage to punch him in the face once but he spat out a clot of higher-caste b100d I knew I was in the wrong. I only let him stab me once I saw that it wasn't my place to fight him," he replied. I finished my stich and cut the string, the troll sat up a bit and looked at my handiwork.

"You might need to rest here for a few days, make sure you heal up right." I closed up my sewing box and returned it under the couch.

"Are you sure that is alright, I do not wish to be a burden." His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me. He had such honest eyes; he was legitimately worried that la casa de Strider wouldn't be able to accommodate another body.

"Ptff, it'll be fine as long as six other trolls don't come knocking at my door for medical attention," I pivoted on my heel and started walking back to my room but I changed my mind. I turned back and stood at the end of the couch.

"I never caught you name, big guy." I waited for him to respond because he currently was wrestling his shirt off his horns. He finally removed the offending garment and answered me, his bare chest distracting me a little; shit he was buff.

"Equius Zahhak, and what is your name?" he asked.

"Strider, Dirk Strider, and it's a pleasure to meet you and tend to your bodily wounds." I grinned and the troll gave a little chuckle. "G'night Equius," I called over my shoulder as I left the room, returning to my bed and sleep.